


Do not send a moondweller to do groceries

by vanishing_apples



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, coping with spaghetti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_apples/pseuds/vanishing_apples
Summary: Eustace's first and last time sending Cassius to run errands.
Relationships: Cassius/Eustace (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	Do not send a moondweller to do groceries

“...As I said, the more time we waste arguing over the division of labour, the less time we have to achieve anything, and the higher the chances of this entire operation being compromised.” - Cassius says, not one speck of urgency lending his tone any credence. 

“I am not permitting you free rein in public spaces.” - Eustace coldly retorts.

“I will be unsupervised for a brief window of time, regardless.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Our allotted time is nowhere near sufficient for your proposal, and neither tasks requires the capacity of both of us. Staying or going, it is highly illogical that we do them in each other’s company.”

Eustace knows he hasn’t a single rational leg to stand on, and it frustrates him to no end. He wouldn’t go as far as deeming trust no longer an issue, but the many months he has spent with Cassius do lend weight to the man’s lack of potential as a threat. And yet, his stomach churns at the thought of Cassius wandering the streets on his own, being a danger to himself, a walking oddity to others, unwittingly drawing attention and inevitably trouble his way... He can’t possibly be feeling protective of this oblivious oddball, can he?

“Eustace, we have three hours, forty minutes, and fifty-six seconds remaining.” - Cassius states calmly, sounding obnoxiously similar to the monotonous, mechanical voice that typically accompanies blaring security alarms. 

Eustace clicks his tongue. Why him? Actually, he knows why. It’s because Beatrix’s birthday party is supposed to be a surprise. Zeta is off to distract her with an impromptu shopping spree; Ilsa has more important business to attend to; and Vaseraga has offered to do most of the cooking at his place already. That’s why Eustace is stuck babysitting. He knows he should be grateful, that he’s only required to contribute _two_ things - one from himself and one (theoretically) from Cassius - in exchange for keeping an eye on the moondweller in Beatrix’s place. Still, he can’t think of being informed four hours in advance of the event as anything but the fruits of utter mismanagement. Zeta will get an earful from him later.

“Three hours, thirty-five minutes, and-”

“Fine.” - Eustace finally groans in defeat. - “You are permitted to go get supplies. Report back in one hour sharp.”

“Understood.” - Cassius’ voice is stony as usual, but his eyes barely conceal his giddiness.  
Heaving a small sigh, Eustace begins jotting down his shopping list, making sure that every word is as clear and legible as can be. He doesn’t want Cassius waddling back after fifteen minutes to demand some trivial clarification.

_1\. 1kg pack of granulated sugar  
2\. 100ml vial of vanilla extract  
3\. Dozen of eggs…_

\---

An hour passes, then another. Ten minutes into the third hour, Eustace’s pot of cheater’s curry has needed its first splash of additional water to prevent over-thickening, and Eustace himself is bursting at the seams with impatience.

There goes their roll cake plan out the window. Achieving one is a virtual impossibility with the time that’s remaining. That isn’t the biggest issue, as the cake ingredients Cassius was tasked with acquiring can certainly be repurposed for a simpler recipe… If they return with Cassius, that is. 

He should not have underestimated the relatively short distance between his house and the market. Eustace should have made Cassius stay and go get the groceries himself. A burnt down kitchen would be a much easier consequence to deal with compared to any sort of commotion a hapless, lost alien could inflict upon an unsuspecting skydweller public. Eustace’s thoughts swirl with the vivid imagery of a thousand ways in which Cassius could have got himself into trouble. 

Against his better judgment, the Erune prepares to head out. 

The click of a lock halts his steps. His door swings open with a dull squeak and, lo and behold, Cassius comes into view, looking if the slightest bit disheveled. Without sparing Eustace a single second for his interrogation, the moondweller struts in, cradling a sizable brown bag. The bundle is promptly plopped into Eustace’s arms after the brief moment Cassius paused to survey the moderately cluttered kitchen.

“I’ll be back.” - He says curtly amidst laboured breaths. 

“...Sure?” - Eustace replies, looking up to be met with Casius’ retreating back instead of his face.

Some clanking ensues beyond the threshold, outside the window of vision granted by the door frame. Eustace cranes his neck, squinting in the direction where Cassius’ trail of platinum blonde hair has disappeared. He catches a glimpse of a rackety wheel. 

_When and where did Cassius get a cart? **Why** does he need a cart?_

Eustace clearly recalls there being seven items at most on that shopping list, the totality of which can easily be carried in one trip, by one person. Something feels off, like the onset of an impending migraine. The Erune checks the contents of the brown bag as a sense of foreboding looms over the view seconds preceding Cassius’ reentrance.

_One pack of 1kg granulated sugar, two 100ml vials of vanilla extract…_

His thoughts are interrupted by the thud of another bag hitting the counter. Once again, Cassius disappears behind the door before he could be questioned. 

Eustace begins checking the second bag. This one is markedly larger than the first. 

… _Three dozen eggs…_

“Would you mind if I put all the dirty utensils in the sink to make room?”

“No, but-”

“Thank you.”

And Cassius is off again, leaving a dumbfounded Eustace to process the reality that his pantry now bears the burden of housing over twenty eggs. 

Eustace can feel that migraine beginning to rattle in his skull. That third bag seems to smugly stare back at him from its spot on the counter. He grabs it without sparing its contents a cursory glance.

_Feels like four litres of milk alright._

Cassius comes in for a fourth time. He’s hauling two bags now. Eustace, having found the crumpled shopping list in one of the first three bags, alternates between keeping track of the remaining items on the list and helplessly watching Cassius almost trip over himself several times. 

_5\. 200 grams of butter._

The entire kilo of butter hits the floor with a thud.

_6\. 1 kg flour._

The six kilos of flour join it with a thump.  
Eustace’s gaze reaches the last item. His throat emits an audible gulp. Gingerly, the tip of his foot shoves apart the clutter on the floor to make a circular clearing. Even with his best effort, he fears for the space’s inadequacy in containing what is to come.

Cassius careens his way in with the final batch, almost lunging forward as he settles it into the prepared spot. Seeing it with his own eyes somehow does nothing to convince Eustace of the timeline he’s found himself in. At his feet lay forty-two bottles of precariously fizzy soda. 

_7\. 6-pack of soda._ \- It is written. 

Caught between the paradoxical urges to massage his throbbing temple and letting out a painful snort, Eustace complies with both. The snort swells into suppressed chuckles that send tremors to his shoulders. Cassius’ stunningly drenched yet deadpan face only amplifies the effect, managing to make Eustace momentarily oblivious to the gaping chasm in his budget. 

“For the record,” - The moondweller says. - “I did notice what I’d done upon leaving the establishment.”

“...And yet, you chose not to return the excess supplies?” - Eustace’s voice is shaky with subdued laughter.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Cassius pauses, opens his mouth only to immediately close it again. The faintest line appears between his eyebrows.

“They already lent me a cart.”

“So?”

The line deepens. An adequate explanation is lodged in Cassius’ throat but dissolves as it makes its way on his tongue, too irrationality-bound to manifest. He has yet to fully comprehend the significance of social norms, but has already subconsciously begun to acknowledge them. 

“It would have felt unpleasant if I had.” - Comes his best answer. 

Eustace briefly squints, but his expression relaxes upon his acceptance of their circumstances. His shoulders slump with a sigh.

“Most of the excess supplies are non-perishable.” - As if prompted by guilt, Cassius is almost hasty in his reminder. - “You won’t have to restock them for some time. Those that are perishable, I will do my best to assume responsibility and exhaust posthaste.”

“I would rather you _not_ try to quickly consume almost a kilo of butter and two dozen eggs.” - Eustace shivers a little at the (shockingly likely) mental image. - “Aside from the minor mishap, you have already carried out your assignment with success.” 

“I see. Your standards for success are quite low.”

“...Would you rather receive a poor assessment instead?”

“No.” 

Eustace no longer bothers with holding back his chortles. Despite not understanding his source of mirth, Cassius allows himself to be infected with it, lips curving into a rare smile. 

The Erune’s laughter eventually tapers into silence. The calm is only broken by the moondweller’s nonchalant remark.

“Say, do you smell something burning?”

**Author's Note:**

> Joke credit to: https://youtu.be/-YFRUSTiFUs  
> Jeanne Robertson is amazing and a goddess of storytelling so go watch her.
> 
> I just needed to write Cassius being carefree and happy to cope with the spaghetti regretti...


End file.
